


Sun Stricken

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Ship + prompt answers [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Peggy Carter Lives, Tahiti is a Magical Place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:10:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5112449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's warm and bright and the ocean is clear and the sky is brilliant. She's with him and that's all that matters. She can't remember why she's there and nothing quite fits but none of it seems very important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun Stricken

**Author's Note:**

> In response to the prompt "Steggy + the beach" which [slowitdownbaby](http://slowitdownbaby.tumblr.com/) sent me _way_ back in July. I'd already had the idea [Coney](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4873327) and didn't want to take the easy way out and combine those two prompts since it was the first time I'd really seriously opened up for them and slowitdownbaby is always so kind in their commenting.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

Natasha stared through the observation window, her expression hard and unyielding. “This is wrong.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we doing it?”

“Because there’s a small chance that it could help. Especially since we know for sure it wasn’t just getting old that was the problem.”

“Does Sharon know?”

“Yes.”

“And she was okay with it?”

“It’s not really her call to make, Natasha. The former director made this choice.”

“She’s got power of attorney. I drove her back and forth to the lawyer’s office to get the papers signed—she was too overwhelmed.”

“This has been a plan for some time now. It needed to be done before it was too late, before nothing could be done.”

***

Peggy breathed deep and imagined she was melting into the cushiony table beneath her. The breeze was hot, just barely sticky with the moisture coming off the water. It played in the strands of her hair, making it tickle her face. She groaned out loud when the masseuse behind her dug her fingers into a particularly tight spot, there was sharp discomfort and then a flood of relief.

Wet feet slapped against the smooth floor of the open porch. They had the whole place to themselves, aside from the staff. An extra shadow, elongated by the high noon-time sunlight fell across the floor in front of her.

Peggy couldn’t bring herself to move. She was far too comfortable.

It was Howard’s place.

Or was it his son’s now?

She couldn’t quite remember, but it didn’t seem entirely important.

The floor creaked very quietly and a solid force jostled the table’s leg to her right. Peggy cracked one eye open and looked at the troublemaker who was disturbing her luxuriant peace.

“Hey there.” He grinned and looked up at her from where he was seated on the floor, leaning against the leg of the massage table. His face and shoulders were speckled with sun-spots. His hair seemed to have been bleached extra blonde in the light. Bright, white sand clung to his feet and shins, drying quickly in the warm air.

“Enjoying yourself?”

He nodded and contorted to look up at her from a better angle. “Certainly am, looks like you are too.”

“Mmm. Yes. How’s the water?”

“Good. Warm. You’ll like it.”

Shadows fell across the sharp planes of his shoulders and face making him look terrifyingly gaunt for a moment.

Wasn’t he bigger?

She couldn’t quite remember, but it didn’t seem entirely important.

She liked him this way.

He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing it down and to the left like always. “Y’gonna come join me?”

“Perhaps in a little while. You go. Enjoy it. Just don’t get lost.”

He laughed, “Yeah, I’m gonna get real lost in a place like this.”

“In the water, I mean.”

He stretched out his legs and shook his head. “It’s so clear, Peg. Like glass. No one’s gettin’ lost in there.” He unrolled the hem of the leg of his swim trunks. They seemed out of place. Dark blue, belted, high-waisted and short-legged. “Come swim with me.”

“When I’m done here.”

He rolled his eyes at her stubbornness and craned his neck up to plant a sloppy kiss against her lips where her face was framed by the headrest. Peggy laughed when he kissed her again and once more before he finally picked himself up and began to walk away, off toward the sand.

She watched his legs out of the corner of her eye, her hair getting in the way as he moved down the beach.

Funny. Wasn’t her hair brown?

She couldn’t quite remember, but it didn’t seem entirely important.

Peggy breathed in deeply and closed her eyes, sinking into the comfort of the masseuse’s hands on her back and shoulders once again. Beyond the edge of the porch the sand was soft and warm and white. She’d sit out there later, with her toes sunk into it. The sky was so clear and the water so blue she wouldn’t be able to tell where one stopped and the other began—no horizon in sight, just an infinite sea stretching up into the heavens.

Far down the beach, something splashed and she knew it was him diving into the water. She wished he wouldn’t. It made her anxious.

“Ms. Carter.”

“Mm, yes?”

“Are you enjoying your stay?”

“Very much.”

“Can I get you anything?” She thought a strawberry daiquiri would be delightful. She wasn’t sure where she’d gotten the idea. It had just popped into her head. “Will Captain Rogers want one as well?”

“You know, I’m not sure. It’s not important, I guess. I don’t know if he’d enjoy it.” Had he ever had a daiquiri? She could remember pink frothy drinks and the subtle smell of chlorine from the pool that she and Angie were lying by that summer after Underwood. Had he been there too?

“I’ll bring the whole pitcher out. Just in case.”

“That would be lovely, Jarvis. Thank you. You’ll join us?”

“Of course, if you’d like.”

“I would.”

“It’s a magical place, isn’t it?”

***

Sharon was sitting in the Starbucks down the block. It never stopped blowing her mind that a clandestine government agency could sit in such plain sight and operate so completely in the dark—just down the block from a coffee chain in one direction and a burrito place in the other, people going about their days like large scale life and death decisions weren’t being made almost minute by minute in some cases.

She stared down into her cup of coffee. It had gone cold over an hour ago but Sharon was too numb to care and the barista hadn’t made a move to make her vacate yet.

Natasha slid into the seat on the other side of her table. She sat there quietly, her presence practically gentle, until Sharon was ready to speak.

“I forgot it was Thursday.”

“What’s so special about Thursday?”

“Steve goes to visit her. Usually more than once a week, but always at least on a Thursday.”

“Does he know?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone panic like that before.” Natasha traced a path through the sugar Sharon had spilled on the table with the stirrer. “He called me, asking where she was. He didn’t say it, but he was asking if she was dead.” That wasn’t something Sharon was ready to think about.

“What did you tell him?”

“I can’t really tell him anything, can I? TAHITI is a need-to-know operation, even now. He doesn’t need to know.” Sharon grimaced and took a gulp of her coffee. “I told him we’d taken her to the hospital for some tests. She’d need to stay overnight for observation.”

“Nick said this was planned?”

“By her, actually.”

“Why? Didn’t anyone tell her about the other TAHITI subjects?”

“Yes. It was a chance she was willing to take.”

“But _why_?” It was the closest thing Sharon had ever recognized in Natasha as distress. The spy had been close to Aunt Peggy—the former Director of SHIELD had been still on board in an advisory capacity when Barton had brought the Widow in. Peggy had seen Natasha’s value, had seen in her something she _hadn’t_ seen in the other Red Room operatives that she’d tangled with over the course of her decades in the field, some salvageable piece of hope and humanity sandwiched between the wet pages of her red ledger. Aunt Peggy had become more to Natasha than just a superior officer in the same way that Director Fury had. Sharon had gained a close friend in the process of Natasha’s defecting and becoming and agent.

“Beyond my security clearance. My aunt wasn’t a loose-lipped woman, especially when it came to SHIELD matters, not even with me.”

The fact that any of them even knew about TAHITI was purely a product of Natasha’s actions. For that, Sharon was grateful, but it still left more questions than answers. What few files were out there were largely redacted, it wasn’t even clear what the acronym stood for. There _were_ things that pointed toward the project being some kind of life-saving or rejuvenation procedure. And there _were_ things that pointed to not every subject coming out of it quite the same.

Sharon wasn’t particularly religious, but she did pray that Peggy knew what she’d gotten into.

***

Sharon held her hand gently as they sat across from the doctor. He was a neurologist, one of the best Maryland had to offer. Peggy looked down at their hands, the contrast between Sharon’s smooth, sun-kissed skin and the onion skin-thin quality of her own.

He described the symptoms Peggy had been experiencing as a _Transient Ischemic Attack_. Several of them. Little strokes that cleared themselves up in a few minutes. But the trouble was that he’d failed to find any clot that may have caused it and she had no history that made any kind of stroke seem reasonable. She’d been for a barrage of MRIs and CAT scans and blood tests. She’d been poked and prodded more than she cared for. She was done with it.

She let Sharon hold her hand while the doctor spoke. It seemed to comfort Sharon at the very least.

They kept coming.

Peggy stopped telling Sharon.

She’d become convinced that some element of foul-play was afoot. She kept the notion close to her chest, not wanting to alarm her family or make them think she was losing her mind along with the use of her body. She was so _tired_.

Nick believed her, or was willing to consider the possibility.

It was hard to get out of bed any more. Some days were better than others. She’d spent time researching several care facilities. She’d move into one if she had to.

“Director Carter.” Nick cast a rare smile on her.

“Director Fury.”

“How’s the patient today?”

“Getting quite sick of it all.”

“Have you given any thought to a private nurse? I can’t see you in one of those homes, Peg.”

“There are some rather nice ones. Lots of doctors on site. Other old crones to discuss my knitting with.” One side of her mouth curled up into a sly grin. “I’m losing my days, Nick.”

“More of the same?”

“Not quite. Just… it was just minutes before. Occasionally I’d sit down in front of the telly at lunch and all of a sudden the evening news was on. But now… I can hardly remember what I did two days ago. It comes and goes. Ask me in an hour and I might be able to account for every last second of that day I couldn’t recall before.”

“And your doc, he still can’t figure out what’s wrong?”

Peggy shook her head. The kettle whistled. Nick rose from his seat and poured hot water into two delicate china cups and returned to the table with them. Peggy wrapped her hands around hers, letting the warmth of it ease the tension in her fingers. “They’re kicking around dementia and Alzheimer’s as possibilities even though none of my tests have given the slightest indication that could be the problem.”

“Let SHIELD help you. Let me send a nurse over at least. Someone from our med pool.”

“A medically trained SHIELD agent is not going to want to sit and watch the grass grow here.”

“I think you’d be surprised at how many would jump at the chance to be close to you, Carter.”

“I’m frightened, Nick.” She took a purposeful sip of her tea.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

Samples of Peggy’s blood were slipped into the daily work of one Dr. Gemma Simmons. Peggy had had the pleasure of attending more than one of the young woman’s presentations at the Academy and had been happy to be in attendance at graduation that year.

Simmons could test for things that a civilian doctor couldn’t or wouldn’t think to. She didn’t think in quite the same patterns as a civilian scientist. Had access to much more sensitive and novel instrumentation.

Simmons could find the signatures of strange chemicals—receptor inhibitors, things that would block or slow neural firing, things that would effect the peripheral nervous system. Minute traces.

Simmons could prove Peggy’s fears: someone wanted her out of the picture without having to show their hand.

***

Steve was a snotty, red-faced mess when Sam came home. He tensed when he came through the door, almost afraid to know what the problem was.

Steve had been living out of a suitcase and a couple of boxes for the better part of the last year, refusing to officially move in and not making any serious moves toward finding a new place of his own. They were in an odd limbo. Some days it was more exhausting than others—for both of them.

It was a never ending argument. Sam would move things around in the closet, make room in the dresser, accidentally-on-purpose let Steve’s things get mixed in with his own when he did the laundry.  He’d make an off-hand comment about how something out of the boxes would look good on that shelf or that wall. Steve would roll his jaw and flex the muscles in his shoulders and shake his head solemnly.

Steve turned and glanced over his shoulder when Sam came through the door. He sniffed loudly, sucking back a sticky sounding sob and started to rise from his seat on the couch. Sam waved him off and shifted his burlap sack of groceries from one arm to the other so he could close the door and flip the lock closed. It was all dry stuff and jars. It could wait.

“Bucky?”

Steve opened his mouth and barked out a harsh laugh-like sound.

“What?”

“Peggy.”

Sam’s heart fluttered, his mind racing toward the worst-case scenario. He did the math in his head quickly. She was 94, not in the best of ways. It wasn’t surprising but that didn’t stop it from hurting. He’d have to get his suit pressed. Steve would probably need to buy one outright. Did he even have shoes? His dress uniform had been shredded along with half the contents of his closet after everything and they hadn’t gotten it replaced yet, that wasn’t an option—

Steve made a face like he was being stabbed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His breath rattled past his hand as he struggled to keep it even.

“Sunshine, you had to know this was gonna come down the line—“

“No, no! She’s… she… I went to visit. Like always—it’s Thursday, right? It’s Thursday?” He looked up at Sam, desperate for confirmation. He nodded. Steve nodded back in response, shuddering when Sam’s blunt nails dragged hard across his shoulders and back in circles, relaxing just the slightest bit. “She wasn’t there, no one was answering the door. So… so I called Sharon. Peg’s in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“She says it’s just for tests. But—but, _Sam_ , she’s—“ His face crumpled again in distress.

“Up there.”

“Yeah.”

“You know you’re one of the first people her family’ll call if something happens, Steve.”

Steve scrubbed his hands over his face. He shifted under Sam’s persistent touch, like a cat adjusting for that perfect scratch in _just that spot_. “I’m just not ready to lose her, Sam. Not for real. I’d rather explain why I’m alive and young every week for the rest of my life than lose her for real.”

“I know. You love her, always will, it would be damn hard not to. And frankly, I’d be pretty disappointed in you if you didn’t. If it’s just tests, then it could be nothing, a hiccup. It won’t help anyone for you to get worked up. How’s that gonna help Sharon?” He seemed considerably calmer after several long minutes of silence between them with the clock on the wall ticking away seconds. “Now, go wash your face, would ya? I’m not kissin’ you while you’re all snot covered.” He leaned in and kissed him anyway, a gentle peck on the cheek. “Gonna have to start calling you Red Eyes instead of Blue.”

Steve chuckled, soft and tired sounding. He ran the back of his hand across his face dramatically and leaned in for a kiss of his own. His expression grew somber again and he gave Sam a serious look. “That,” he gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, at the beat-up boxes in Sam’s office and the suitcase in the corner of the bedroom beyond it. “That’s not because… It’s not because of her.” He sighed, frustrated. “When Hydra ransacked my place, when they couldn’t find us, when they couldn’t find Fury… They destroyed so much.”

Sam had helped him in trying to salvage his belongings, had helped him pack those boxes. It had been vindictive, clearly. They’d turned the apartment upside down. Smashed dishes and records, pulled books apart, tore the few photographs to shreds, ripped clothes, broke furniture. It wasn’t just a search. It was a message.

Sam’s house had been turned at least partially upside down, looking a little more like someone had hastily gone through it. Hydra hadn’t really known who he was or what his connection to Steve and Natasha were and the spy had made sure no evidence of their presence there had been left behind should it have come to that.

They’d collected as many of the fragments of his photos as they could manage, spent a weekend with the giant jigsaw puzzle they’d created. Sam had privately spoken to a friend who was still signed up on how to get Steve’s decorations and uniforms replaced—though Steve hadn’t made the call to have it done yet and that was a _whole_ other issue to tackle. Every few weeks they managed to track down another obscure book or old record in some format to try to replace the material things Steve had lost.

“If I don’t… if this is never _mine_ … no one can take it away. No one can destroy it.”

Sam turned it over in his head. He got it. “You wanna keep sleeping in my bed you’re putting your damn drawers in that dresser. You’re _mine_. And this can be _ours_.” Steve smiled and nodded, leaning in heavily.

***

It felt odd to be back inside the Triskelion after SHIELD had been effectively “taken down.” Sharon wore her CIA credentials proudly as she walked through the lobby, flanked by Natasha and Fury, ignoring the shrewd looks some of the agents and administrative staff that remained cast on her.

The director was wearing someone else’s face, still dead as far as people without topmost clearance or personal confidence were concerned.

The agency was functioning as a shell of itself, at least three factions claiming to be the _True SHIELD_. Those who hadn’t taken the opportunity to move on like Sharon had seemed to have been swept up in the battle for supremacy in leadership—soldiers unwittingly drafted or staunch in their loyalties.

Peggy would have been devastated.

No, Peggy would _be_ devastated when she learned what happened.

“I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t watch that.” Natasha had nodded and agreed that it hadn’t been a pleasant thing to see, even the few moments that she’d been at the viewing window. “I’m heading back over there when they call me. She’ll be in recovery then.” Harder in some ways because it was Fury’s faked death all over again.

TAHITI was never meant to be conducted on official SHIELD property. Decisions about moving the operation, at least the vital parts of it, and at least temporarily, to Washington had been made quickly and quietly. The doctors who would be performing the procedure didn’t think that Peggy would be able to handle the kind of travel that bringing her to TAHITI would involve.

Hill looked up from her clipboard as the elevator doors slid open. Officially, she worked for Stark Industries. Unofficially, she was still helping to run SHIELD and managing the Avengers. She looked so different in her smart dress and heels than she did in tactical gear and uniforms.

It was a change that suited her, not that the look Sharon was more accustomed to didn’t.

Her serious expression softened when she laid eyes on Sharon and pulled her in for a hug. “It’s been too long, Carter.”

“It’s good to see you, Maria.”

“They just moved her, getting her settled in ICU-Recovery.”

“Intensive care? What happened?” Natasha squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Nothing! Nothing. She actually did… really beautifully.”

“But, this thing, it… it’s supposed to revive someone who was dead, right? They were digging around in her brain.”

“Yes,” Nick cleared his throat. Sharon could see the gears turning in his head, picking his words carefully to churn out an answer. “In the event of the fall of an Avenger.”

“Someone like Steve.” Someone valuable, an asset they couldn’t afford to lose.

“Any and all Avengers.” He looked pointedly at Natasha. She looked away, watching the numbers for the floors change on the screen above the call buttons. “Not just people with… special circumstances. Peggy Carter is just as important. We wouldn’t have any of this without her, wouldn’t have done any of the good work we have.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“The procedure helps to restore lost function in the nervous system, give cognitive processing a jumpstart. Once primitive neural functions are back up and running in the background, you can work on the more independent systems—cardiac, that kind of thing. It’s not really my area of expertise, the doctors can tell you more if you want to know, more of the finer details, as long as it’s not sensitive information.”

“So why exactly did Aunt Peggy ask for this?”

“She knew something wasn’t right. When she really started to get weak, started losing days, she had a gut feeling that it wasn’t just getting old.”

“Hydra.”

“We didn’t know then, obviously, but we have plenty of reason to suspect as much now.”

“We’re combing through Pierce’s correspondence. Chances are anything like this would have been kept completely out of a paper trail, though, probably verbal orders only.” Hill spat out the name like it left a tangibly bad taste in her mouth.

“We’d been trying to isolate the problem for a while, working with the information her doctors could get and then whatever else our own people could supplement it with. It was one of the reasons her home aide came from us—part protection detail, part health monitoring. A more hands-on version of what you were doing with Rogers. There was definitely something up. She wanted to be able to fight back.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“It would have put you in danger. If there was any indication that you knew? Whoever was trying to get her out of the way might have seen you as a liability. We decided it would be best to wait to try this until it was close to the end as possible, that way it wouldn’t be looked at too closely if it didn’t work. She wanted to protect the agency and the people who worked here, and protecting you was always her priority.”

***

Steve shielded his eyes with a hand when she walked up the beach to stand over him where he laid in the sand, a bright red-and-white checked blanket beneath him. His plump lips pulled up into a smile on one side and he resettled his arms behind his head. The pattern of freckles that had sprung up over his cheeks and shoulders were spreading over his arms and torso, a few popping up on his cream-colored thighs, now that he’d been out of the water for some time and fully exposed to the glare of the sun outside the protection of the waves. He was beginning to look like a photo-negative of the night sky.

Peggy could see herself reflected back on the surface of his sunnies. The more she tried to focus on the little double image of herself, her big floppy-brimmed hat casting shade over the whole scene, the more amorphous she seemed to look.

“Finally joinin’ me?”

“It would seem so.” Peggy lowered herself onto the blanket beside him, wiggling her body down into the soft, warm sand below. “It is rather beautiful out here, isn’t it? I think I’m going to be hard pressed to go home.” She closed her eyes and leaned back on the heels of her palms, stretching her legs and curling her toes. Steve’s fingertips were light and gentle tracing the outline of the cutout on the front of her suit. She squinted down at him, smiling, as his fingertip slipped beneath the soft jersey and traced along the bottom swell of her breast. “Jarvis will see.”

“Who’s Jarvis?”

“We—he just—the drinks, he—“

“What drinks?”

“Jarvis, my friend, Jarvis.”

Steve gave her a skeptical look, “Peggy, we’re the only ones for miles.”

“Don’t be smart.” She knocked his hand away and sat up straight, twisting around to look back toward the house.

The house wasn’t there. She couldn’t see it. She’d been sure there was a house there before. It was Howard’s—or maybe his son’s?

Peggy looked back at Steve and frowned. She thought it might have been a trick of the sun, a passing cloud. He seemed to flicker, a flash of grey that she almost thought she’d imagined. He looked up at her from where he was leaning up on one elbow and mirrored her expression. She looked back toward the water, the waves rolling gently in and out.

“It’s a magical place.”

“What?”

Steve was smiling jauntily up at her he reached out and traced along the edge of the cut-out in the front of her suit. It was her favorite. Deep, dark red jersey. It had a skirt that matched so that she could walk along the boardwalk on Coney Island with Angie without worry of being indecent. Steve ran his fingers up, caressing the lower swell of her breast, his fingers warm against her skin, distracting her.

“I said, it’s a magical place. But it’s not as beautiful as you are.”

Peggy rolled her eyes. Steve had trouble keeping his expression neutral. “You’re awful at that.”

“Very. Would y’have me any other way?”

“Absolutely not.” Peggy adjusted her position so she might speak with him at eye-level. “I’ve missed you so much, Steve.”

“How could you miss me? I never went anywhere. I’ve always been here.”

Peggy pulled the glasses off of his face, studying him closely for a moment. “I suppose you have.” He smiled and leaned in to kiss her. She let him, slipping into the easy motion of their lips against each other’s, and shifted slowly, lying down on her back, her hat getting crushed under her head in the process, and tangling their legs together.

***

“She’ll be awake in a few hours. The anesthetic that we use for the procedure is pretty potent.”

“Can I ask what exactly you did to her?” Sharon was alone in the recovery room with the doctor, sitting at Aunt Peggy’s side, her birdlike, delicate hand in Sharon’s.

“Recovered memories, mostly. It was a bit like… you know when you go for a cleaning at the dentist? It’s a bit like that—cleaning synapses, unblocking receptors, getting neurons to start firing again after they’ve gone dark. Of course, we can’t necessarily _see_ that, but we know it’s happening from the chemistry and electrical feedback.” Sharon took a breath, ready to ask for more detail. The doctor put a hand up. “Classified.” She nodded, understanding the limits of what she could and could not know. “Then, when we get the brain working at capacity again, it’s a hell of a lot easier to repair other systems that started to fail because the brain was failing. It’s not like we’ve given her another 94 years, but a handful at the very least. And it’ll be a handful completely in her own control. Whatever happened, it was nasty and it was over a long period.”

“The first TIAs. They were…” Sharon paused, pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to scroll back through her own memory. There had been so many consultations and tests and appointments and counseling sessions since then. So much had happened _in general_ since then. “A few months after she moved back from Manchester again.”

“When was that?”

Sharon’s heart sank. “After the Battle of New York. After she was told Captain America was alive.”

Things started clicking into place.

***

Steve slept fitfully through the night. He’d promised Sam he’d move his things in officially. He just needed time. It was time Sam was glad to give as long as there was some kind of definite direction they were moving in.

Steve tagged along to the VA on Friday morning, quietly stuffing envelopes in the office while Sam moderated group sessions, one eye on his phone at all times. He talked to the woman in charge of the operation about having a more permanent position. Not as a counselor, but helping wherever he could in the offices and around the building.

Dinner was tense that night.

They made sandwiches and scooped up salsa with salty, limey chips while they watched the Royals leave the Mets in the dust mostly in silence. Steve wasn’t his usual animated self while they watched. There was no shouting at the television, no comparison to some game or player, or piece of statistics that he’d had memorized since he was old enough to memorize anything.

It was unnerving.

Sam wished Carter would call with some kind of update already. This was bordering on cruel.

Steve sighed, blinking his unfocused eyes slowly and picking his head up off of Sam’s chest where he was comfortably nestled. “I think I’m gonna go shower.” He unfolded himself from the couch, gently moving Sam’s arm away, and picked up their dishes to bring into the kitchen.

“Can I join you?”

“I’d, um… I’d rather not.”

“Alright.”

“Later, maybe?”

“Whatever you want, Sunshine.”

Sam finished watching the game, listening to the sounds of the shower turning on and turning off, the slight creek in the floorboards as Steve moved back down the hall to the bedroom. He was up like a flash when a crash came from overhead. Steve was cursing a blue streak while Sam took the stairs two at a time.

Sam swerved into the room and stopped on a dime, not sure whether to be concerned or to give into the urge to laugh out loud. “What the hell happened?”

Steve looked up at him from where he sat on the floor with the towel from the bathroom still around his waist, his foot cradled in one hand and the pull from the dresser drawer that was upturned on the floor in front of him in the other. “It was stuck.” His eyes widened and he seemed to notice the drawer pull in his hand for the first time. “And then it wasn’t.”

Seeing that Steve was evidently okay, Sam let himself laugh. Steve looked mildly insulted for a moment before he started laughing right along with Sam. Their full-bellied amusement echoed against the walls and soaked into Sam’s bones. “What were you doing?”

Steve turned the drawer over and shuffled on his knees toward the dresser to slide it back into the tracks. Sam bent down beside him, trying to pick up the overturned stacks of his underwear and tee-shirts without letting to much get completely unfolded.

“I-I-I was—“

Sam leaned on the top of the dresser to get up from the knee he’d taken and noticed the very flat, very compact pile of white undershirts sitting on top of the dresser.

They didn’t belong to him.

Sam smiled down at Steve where he was still kneeling, still holding the drawer pull in one hand. He seized either side of Steve’s face and kissed him soundly.

He couldn’t manage wiping the grin off of his face when he tried to roll away, the carpet noticeably rough against his bare knees an hour later. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, Steve’s legs were heavy draped over his thighs.

Steve’s solid arms wrapped around him, stopping him from moving. He rested his chin against Steve’s chest instead, watching the way the heightened pink slowly receded from his cheeks and he went from flared nostrils and quick breaths to slow, languid intakes.

“How many hangers do you need?”

Steve broke into a wide smile.

***

It had been two weeks. Sharon texted him periodically, letting him know that Peggy was alright. She’d had to go in for some kind of surgery and was just taking a while to recover, he had to expect that considering her age, he didn’t need to worry.

It didn’t stop him from worrying, of course. Especially since evidently Peggy didn’t want visitors—or they weren’t allowed for some reason.

“They really only let close family into the ICU. Maybe that’s where she is?” They were walking after their run. Sam was breathing hard, pretending the last mile hadn’t been one too many. He’d insist that they were going to drive up for the New York Marathon, he had to get his pace up.

Steve grimaced and plopped down against the trunk of the tree he first spoke to Sam under, draining the water pouch he’d been clutching. He rolled it up tightly and shoved it down into the pocket of his sweats.

Sam sat down next to him and mopped at his brow with the hem of his tee shirt. “Hey, remember when Facebook reminded me it was Ry’s birthday?”

“Yeah.”

“Somethin’ happens to Peggy, you’ve got someone who has your back.” Steve put his hand over Sam’s on the grass between them and squeezed it firmly. “Any chance a mysterious sports car is gonna pull up to that curb and give us a ride home?”

Steve chuckled, “I don’t think Tash would mind going for a drive.” He glanced toward the street, half expecting the _Stingray_ to pull up alongside them. They sat for a moment, cooling down. It was sunny, but even in Washington the autumn was starting to take hold. Sweat chilled on Steve’s back and scalp as they sat. Sam’s breathing steady, heat no longer radiating off of him in waves, Steve got to his feet and put a hand out to help him up. They walked at a leisurely pace to the bus stop. They’d discuss whether to eat before they headed over to the VA or bring lunch for the other counselors and what to bring on the way back into their neighborhood.

Steve couldn’t help but to smile to himself when he thought of it. _Their_ neighborhood.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, plinking out the tune of _Skyfall_ and heralding a call from the younger Carter. Sam crooned out the chorus quietly beside him until he tapped the answer key with his thumb.

“Sharon?”

“Hello, darling.”

“I—Peggy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God.” The bus paused at the stop. Sam waved the driver on.

“It’s Thursday. You’re late.”

Steve felt like there was a vice around his heart when he tapped the button to end the call.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” He sniffed and rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. “Yeah. I’m good. She’s good. She sounds good. Wants me to come over for coffee.”

Sam hesitated, “Do you want company? I can drive you over there. Wait outside if you need me to.”

“No, it’s okay. You have to work. You’ve got sessions scheduled all afternoon.”

“It’s just group. Nothing one-on-one. Another counselor can take it.”

“Are you sure? They depend on you.”

“They’ll understand. If there’s anything they’d understand it’s needing to be there for someone you love.”

Steve felt like there was a vice around his heart for an entirely different reason.

They pulled into Peggy’s driveway an hour later. He was vibrating with anticipation, feeling like his clothes were too small. He was raw and pink and freshly scrubbed. Sam had told him to put his blue shirt on, reminding him that Peggy had remarked once how lovely it looked with his eyes, reminding him how lovely _Sam_ thought it looked with his eyes.

“Sam, what if it’s worse?”

“Then you deal with it.” He squeezed Steve’s knee reassuringly. “We deal with it together.”

Steve was surprised when Peggy’s home health aide directed him to the solarium rather than the bedroom. It had been a long time since he’d seen Peggy dressed in real clothes rather than a house dress. She still looked very comfortable in her lumpy burgundy sweater—it had been her husband’s, Steve knew—and linen slacks. Tendrils of pure white hair framed her face in gentle waves, the short braid over her shoulder ended in a shining corkscrew. She was focused on the Chimney Swift that was settled on the rim of the concrete birdbath in the back yard.

The side of her mouth twitched up into a smile and she watched him as he tentatively made his way around her chair to the other side of the tea table.

“You’re looking well, my darling.”

Steve smiled back at her. “You are too, Peg.”

She laughed, “Tell your friend to come inside, will you?”

He looked at her skeptically, “How did you know there was someone with me?”

“I may be old but I’m still Agent Carter.” She raised a brow at him and crossed one thin leg over the other. “You drive a motorbike. Very distinct sound when it echoes down the alley.” She gestured toward the other side of the house where the driveway between herself and her neighbor was situated. “I heard the car pull in. One door opened and closed. Car pulled out.”

Steve was a little baffled. “You never stop amazing me.” He fired off a text message asking Sam to come back, inviting him in.

“Who dropped you off, darling? It couldn’t have been Natasha. She drives one of those smart little things. This one was too noisy.”

“My, ah, my friend. Sam. Sam Wilson.”

“The airman?”

Steve nodded, willing the blush that rose to his cheeks away. Sure enough, the sound of Sam’s car pulling back in echoed down the driveway and into the backyard.

“But he’s more than a friend, isn’t he?”

“I—um—“

“Darling, please.  You talk about him all the time. I was very happy when you finally moved out of your flat and into his house. I couldn’t remember the last time you _really_ smiled before that.”

The aide let Sam in the front door and led him through to the back of the house. He paused in the doorway as if waiting for permission, “Ma’am?”

“Please, come in, Sam. Make yourself at home.”

Sam eased himself down into the remaining seat at the tea table, casting a questioning glance at Steve. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

Peggy scoffed and waved a hand through the air in front of herself. “Peggy. And the honor is mine, really.”

Sam looked down at his feet bashfully for a moment. “How are you feeling, Peggy?”

“Ah, worlds better.”

“Wait! You know Natasha?”

“Oh, goodness, yes. For several years now. Almost since Agent Barton brought her in.”

“But she—when—“ He hesitated, not sure how much Peggy knew about what had happened that very grey April. “She saw picture of you once, when we were working a mission. Acted like she didn’t recognize you.”

“Darling, she’s a spy. More than that, a Widow. That doesn’t surprise me.” Steve pushed down the flicker of annoyance he felt at the revelation. Secrets were Natasha’s trade, she was entitled to them. “Anyway, Steve tells me you were in pararescue.”

“I was, yeah. Really loved it.”

“It takes a very special person to fill that role. It’s quite a demanding job.” Peggy asked question after question, girlish excitement on her face as Sam told her about his time serving. “You were part of the Falcon program, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I’d heard something about it in development, but I hadn’t realized it had gotten off the ground. Excuse the pun.”

Sam laughed, “At least I know where Steve gets his sense of humor.”

“Goodness no, that’s all him. I taught him to fight properly, not how to tell jokes.” She shifted in her chair and cast a longing, sentimental smile at Steve. “Tell me, Sam, what’s it like to fly?”

Steve’s chest swelled with warmth listening to Sam talk about what it was like to spread his wings and soar. “It was hard after I lost my wingman. I got out a little while after that.” He smacked Steve affectionately on the arm. “Until this one pulled me right back in.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, how—?”

“How I lost Riley?” She nodded, assured him she wouldn’t be offended if he didn’t want to talk about it. “No, no, it’s alright.” Sam gave her the general story. He tensed. Steve put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed it and took his hand away again.

“I’m so sorry, Sam.” Peggy offered her condolences, he accepted them graciously. “It does explain a bit of why you two are so close. Shared life experience certainly serves as a channel for mutual understanding. I’m very glad you found each other.”

Sam turned toward Steve, mildly horrified. “You told her?”

“She figured it out on her own, there was nothing to tell.”

“You—I mean—“

“It’s two-thousand-fifteen. And I know my Steve. And I know you make him happy. That’s all that matters.”

“If you wouldn’t mind, ma’am, DADT might not be an official thing anymore but, um, it’s still pretty hard to come out as bisexual when you’re workin’ with the military.” He smiled softly at Steve, “Let alone to come out as bisexual _and_ say that you’re in a relationship with Steve Rogers.” Most of Sam’s coworkers knew. They hadn’t been keeping it a secret. They just hadn’t exactly shouted it from the rooftops.

“Not Captain America?”

“Cap’s the guy I work with when the world’s ending. Steve’s the guy I’m in love with.”

Peggy looked torn between delight and heartbreak. Steve gripped the arms of his chair to keep himself from stealing a kiss from Sam. Her words echoed in his head. “Peg, about shared life experience—“

“It’s in the past, Steve, I’m very happy for you.”

“No, no. I’m glad you’re happy for me but that’s not what I mean.” She gave him a questioning look.

“You sure about this, Sunshine?” He nodded.

“It’s Bucky.”

***

Aunt Peggy was quiet and serious when Sharon got back to the house. They’d spent the morning going over old files from the SSR days, trying to run down leads on Hydra’s chain of command, trying to identify other heads, people who handed down their power, who it may have ended up with after Pierce was taken out. She’d headed back to the Triskelion with Natasha to pick up more files and give Peggy some privacy for her visit with Steve.

Everyone was quiet and serious when Sharon got back to the house. Natasha opened the door for her to step though with the heavy file box. They settled their materials across the kitchen table.

Natasha smile wryly, immediately jumping to humor to diffuse the situation the way she always did. “Why the long faces? You’re all much more attractive when you smile.”

Steve looked up at her and frowned. He didn’t speak until he’d settled Peggy at the head of the table and took a seat himself as well. “Why did you pretend you didn’t know who she was?”

Natasha frowned just as deeply. “I would have blown Sharon’s cover.”

Steve looked from Natasha to Sharon and back. “You knew. All that time, you knew.”

“Steve—“

“I’m… I’m not mad. You were doing your job. It’s just still hard to wrap my head around.”

“Aunt Peggy, you look exhausted. We can pick this up again tomorrow. We’ll just order something for dinner and take it easy tonight.”

“Nonsense, Ren. We’ve got work to do and no time to waste.”

Steve sifted quietly through files, his head bent close to Sam’s, for well over an hour before he spoke again. Something seemed to be visibly bothering him. “Peggy, please don’t be upset but… today is the best day that you’ve had in a really long time and…” He mulled it over for a moment. “What’s different?”

“She’s on a new medication. Something experimental.”

Aunt Peggy took Sharon’s hand in both of hers. They were soft and dry and cool and comforting. “Sharon, I’d like to tell him.”

“I don’t think we can, Director Fury—“

“Nick will understand.” Sharon nodded, she couldn’t stop her aunt from doing what she wanted. Peggy wouldn’t compromise anyone willingly. She started by relating the saga of her recent, frightening medical history. She gave Steve a very bare-bones explanation of what TAHITI was and what plans she and Director Fury put into place. “I had very little to lose, you could hardly call what I had _quality of life_ , and quite a bit to gain if it worked. So far, it looks like it has.”

“But how?”

“We haven’t figured that out yet, but it’s clear that someone wanted me out of the picture. My life’s work was to eradicate Hydra and its influence. I thought that we’d succeeded but really, it was taking root again right under our noses.” She gestured to Steve. “Then you showed up and started putting up quite a stink about the Tesseract, about SHIELD using old Hydra tech. And rightfully so. The two of us as a team again? That would have been far too dangerous. I was an easy target. To be honest, I’m surprised they didn’t simply send Barnes after me now that I know who the Soldier is.”

“Aunt Peggy—“

“Knowing what I know now about Pierce, it certainly would have fit his style.” She took a deep breath and closed the file in front of her. “But that’s in the past. Pierce has been dealt with and we have far more important things to worry about now.”

Sharon smiled inwardly.

The whole thing had left a sour taste in her mouth but it had somehow given Sharon her Aunt Peggy back. The fire in Peggy’s eyes again lit the fire in Sharon’s belly.

***

It felt good to be surrounded by people she cared for and to be able to place them all in time and space. It felt good to be herself again. It felt good to be able to do real work again.

“You know.” She handed the last of the files to Natasha to put into the _possible leads_ pile. “I’d love to take a trip to the beach.” Sharon blanched. “ _To Coney Island_.” She regained some color. “Do you remember our plans, Steve?”

He laughed, “We were gonna make Bucky ride the Cyclone until he puked. And then eat cotton candy until _we_ puked.”

“I don’t think I’m in any condition to go for a ride on the Cyclone, but I would love to spend a day. We could ride the train up to New York. Perhaps spend the weekend with Howard’s boy.”

“You know Tony?”

“Of course I know Tony, Steve, really you’ve got to stop being surprised.”

“Just feels like two totally different worlds. Keep forgetting you’re the bridge to both.” He looked at her fondly when she got to her feet.

“You all are welcome to stay as long as you’d like, put another pot of coffee on.” She leaned down and placed a kiss at the corner of Steve’s mouth, stroked Sharon’s gleaming blonde hair as she walked by. She accepted Natasha’s hand at her elbow, steadying her on stiff legs after having sat for so long. “But I think I should be getting myself to bed.”

It didn’t surprise her when Steve told her that his credit card had been refunded for his and Sam’s train tickets. It surprised her even less when a car pulled up to whisk herself and Sharon off to the airport. It surprised her not at all when she was settled on Tony Stark’s private plane.

They dropped their weekend bags off at Stark—no, _Avengers Tower_ —before heading down to Coney. She protested without much effort when Steve came jogging back up across the sand after leaving Sam to settle their blanket and Peggy’s chair. He scooped her up into his arms and placed her down again when he reached their spot.

Sharon and Natasha made themselves comfortable with a book a piece.

Sam headed toward the chilly foam, on a quest for the perfect shell or stone as a keepsake of the day.

Steve settled himself just in front of her, hunched over his sketchbook, the curve of Natasha’s shoulder quickly taking shape on the blank page. He turned his head and smiled when Peggy ran her fingers though his hair, putting it back into place when the breeze ruffled it.

Peggy lounged back in her seat and pulled her husband’s sweater closed around her. It may have been unseasonably warm, but her old bones didn’t have much protection from the gentle wind off the water. She adjusted her floppy-brimmed hat on her head and slipped her sunnies onto the end of her nose.

It was a magical place.

But not as magical as the connection amongst them.

**Author's Note:**

> We don't know a lot about TAHITI and dammit I'm going to use it for my own purposes. I think that a procedure that could bring someone back from being dead could reasonably fix whatever mysterious thing that Pierce (presumably) had done to Peg in this story.
> 
> Steve's bathingsuit looks something like this, from an ad from 1940:  
>   
> Peggy's looks something like the young lady in the dark-colored suit in this photo:  
>   
> Round sunglasses and aviators were pretty popular in terms of style i the '40s, so take your pick there.  
> This is a water pouch. They fascinate and confuse me for some inexplicable reason. I think Steve would get a kick out of them.  
> 


End file.
